Surviving the Magic Academy With Just Intelligence Stats

Afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the luxurious estate, casting long shadows across polished wooden floors and illuminating motes of dust that danced in the air. Ambrose sat in a high-backed leather chair, a leather-bound tome balanced carefully in his lap. The quiet was broken only by the gentle clink of porcelain as Hualing entered, bearing a silver tray with an ornate teapot and cup.

She poured the tea with practiced grace, the aromatic steam rising in delicate spirals. Without a word, she placed the cup within easy reach and retreated, her footsteps nearly silent on the thick carpet. Ambrose watched her departing figure with thoughtful eyes, remembering how she'd practically bounced with excitement these past two days, exploring every corner of the academy and the surrounding city with childlike wonder.

Despite her role as his personal bodyguard, he'd allowed these excursions without hesitation. After all, what harm could befall him within the academy's heavily warded grounds? His gaze drifted to the window, taking in the sprawling grounds of what was now his personal estate – a "gift" from the academy principal, though her reluctance had been painfully obvious. The memory of that meeting brought a knowing smile to his lips as he recalled sensing his mother's presence earlier that same day. He wondered if his mother had pulled some strings.

What troubled him more was his own behavior. That initial burst of curiosity upon arriving at the academy had evaporated with surprising speed, even catching Adelaide off guard. He could still feel the excitement somewhere within him, but it felt muted, as if being actively suppressed. The realization prompted him to call up one of his skill descriptions:

[Rational Mind](S) - The pinnacle of logical processing, this ability maintains perfect clarity of thought regardless of circumstances. The user remains completely immune to emotional manipulation and can think clearly even under extreme stress or fear. The ability to separate emotions from decision-making becomes second nature, while also preventing mental breakdown in even the most traumatic situations, ensuring consistent rational thought processes.

Understanding dawned as he studied the description. This wasn't just an active skill – it was running constantly in the background, automatically filtering out anything it deemed emotionally driven or illogical. His desire to explore the academy purely out of excitement? Suppressed. But when he reframed the exploration as a tactical assessment of his new environment, he felt no resistance from the skill.

"Wait! Does that mean..." The thought propelled him from his chair toward the opposite wall's bookshelf. His fingers traced along the spines until they found what he sought – a colorful volume bearing a prominent warning against readers under eighteen. With clinical detachment, he opened the book and studied its contents. After a minute of observation, his expression turned somber as he confirmed his suspicion. Not even a flutter of arousal.

As he returned the book to its shelf, he found himself surprisingly unbothered by this discovery. Given his Weak Body physique, arousal had previously led to dangerous strain on his system. The real concern was his apparent inability to control or even fully understand this skill's parameters. What did it consider "illogical"? How might this automatic suppression affect his decision-making in crucial moments?

Yet even as these worries formed, he found himself dismissing them, returning to his chair and picking up one of the history books Adelaide had procured for him. Mid-paragraph, a troubling thought surfaced: why had he so readily abandoned his concerns about the skill's influence? Was the skill itself making him ignore potential threats to its control? He pushed the thought aside with surprising ease. No, that was paranoid thinking – he simply recognized the futility of pursuing answers he couldn't obtain.

But somewhere in the depths of his enhanced mind, a quiet voice wondered if that rationalization too was just another product of the skill's influence.

…

The morning sun cast long shadows across the academy grounds as Ambrose and Hualing emerged from their estate. Adelaide stood waiting for them at the agreed meeting point, her trademark merchant's smile firmly in place.

"Did you take care of it?" Ambrose inquired, referring to the business she'd mentioned two days prior. Her response came in the form of a confident nod, her smile never wavering. Without missing a beat, she glided over to Hualing's side, and the two women fell into animated conversation, their voices carrying easily through the crisp morning air.

The trio made their way toward the academy proper, where a growing crowd was converging on what appeared to be a stadium-like structure. As they merged with the throng of prospective students, Hualing's demeanor shifted instantly. Her cheerful disposition vanished, replaced by the cold efficiency of a trained guard. In one fluid motion, she pressed closer to Ambrose, her hand sliding to her thigh and producing a wickedly sharp knife. The killing intent radiating from her was so palpable that nearby students instinctively stepped back, creating a conspicuous circle of empty space around their group.

Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through tall grass.

"Who's that? He looks important," one student ventured.

Another responded with barely concealed disdain, "Have you been living under a rock? That's Ambrose Rothschild."

"That means..." a third voice chimed in, trailing off meaningfully.

"Yeah, he's the sole heir of the Rothschild family," someone confirmed, their tone heavy with implications.

A particularly brave (or foolish) student dared to ask, "But wasn't he sick? How is he here now?"

The response was immediate and harsh. "Shut up! Don't ask what you shouldn't! If you want to die, don't involve us!" The crowd shifted away from the questioner like a living organism avoiding poison, leaving him isolated.

The unfortunate student's eyes met Hualing's, and what he saw made his blood run cold. She began slowly licking her blade, her eyes never leaving his, until the poor boy's bladder gave out in terror.

Ambrose heaved a weary sigh and delivered a light tap to Hualing's head. "What are you doing? You're scaring away the others," he chided, smoothly confiscating the knife from her hands. The tension in the air was broken by the arrival of the academy principal, who had sensed the disturbance.

Taking in the scene with a practiced eye, the principal could only sigh. "What are you standing around for? The entrance exam is about to begin," she announced, her authoritative voice brooking no argument.

The crowd immediately began streaming toward the venue, their earlier trepidation temporarily forgotten in the rush to secure good positions. Ambrose's group followed at a more leisurely pace, unbothered by the commotion around them.

As they walked, Ambrose studied the confiscated knife with interest. His enhanced vision picked up subtle differences from the previous one he'd taken from her. "Probably a backup," he mused, admiring her preparedness even as he questioned the wisdom of letting her keep such weapons. With a subtle gesture, he stored the blade in his space ring, making a mental note to have a serious discussion about appropriate bodyguard behavior in public spaces.

The principal watched their retreating figures with a mixture of resignation and concern. Between Victoria Rothschild's "requests" and her son's apparently unstable bodyguard, this year's entrance ceremony was shaping up to be more eventful than usual.

High above in one of the academy buildings, a young woman in religious attire observed the scene through a window. Her distinctive outfit – white robes and a blindfold marked with a cross – marked her as a member of the church. As she watched the commotion below, her expression grew troubled, words escaping in a whisper: "That girl... How could a single person have such evil..."

Before she could complete her thought, Hualing's head snapped up, her gaze piercing directly through the distance to meet the observer's eyes. A wicked smile spread across the maid's face, so jarring and unexpected that the religious woman staggered backward. When she gathered her courage to look again, everything appeared normal – Hualing was walking away with her group as if nothing had happened.

"Did I just imagine it?" the woman wondered, one hand pressed against her racing heart.